


Cold War

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s dangerous. She’s always known that. He’s proving it now with every touch, every glance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/gifts).



> Written to the prompts: brilliance, murmur, ice

He’s as handsome as she remembers, if a little grayer and fuller in the face. But it’s still recognizably him and he still intrigues her, and that’s why she’s invited him to her hotel room after the Pentagon dinner. She’s probably being tailed by anonymous men in black cars but she doesn’t care. She carries enough clout with those who matter that one little indiscretion won’t mean the end of her brilliant career. She’s too valuable. And she’s pretty sure he’ll be worth it.  
  
He’s on her as soon as she locks the door of her room. No preamble, no niceties. His mouth takes hers in a forceful kiss, and he starts to work the buttons of her silk blouse but becomes impatient when he can’t undo them quickly enough and rips them off, the tiny pearl-like fastenings pinging off in all directions. His hand reaches in and grabs her breast and squeezes hard and she gasps. It’s been a while. Top military scientists in Russia live a privileged if somewhat closeted life. Men are as frightened of her intellect as much as her ... connections.  
  
Her nipple peaks under his knowing fingers and he rubs it with his callused thumb, over and over, the rough skin adding delicious friction – his gun has caused that callus, he’s killed people and that shouldn’t excite her but it does -- and it’s almost too much but he keeps it just this side of bearable.  
  
He pushes her down onto the bed, pulling the blouse off her shoulders and kissing down into the hollow of her throat, her neck, not quite biting but the message is unmistakable. He’s in charge here, and that’s fine by her.  
  
Somehow, she sheds the blouse and he pulls the bra straps half way down her arms, and then he devours her breasts, sucking and licking, teasing her nipples with agonising flicks of his tongue.  
  
She cries out a little and murmurs encouragement, “Please, harder, there.”  
  
He raises his head and looks down at her, face hard, eyes as cold as a Siberian winter. “In English,” he says, flatly, like he can’t bear to hear her language, and she wonders what that means, where that fear, that hate, has come from. He’s dangerous. She’s always known that. He’s proving it now with every touch, every glance. It turns her on and she’s as horrified by that as she is excited.  
  
She pushes him off and he’s willing to move. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be able to shift him at all.  
  
Without saying a word, she takes off the rest of her clothes, slowly, puts on a show. She’s beautiful and she knows it. Her body is still taut and lithe, even though she’s not in the first flush of youth. She watches him watching her with greedy, predatory eyes and flattens herself against the wall. He doesn’t bother to undress, just unbuckles, unzips and reaches for himself. He’s hard and he makes sure her eyes are on him as he rolls on the condom he has in his pants pocket. Then he’s lifting her and she’s wrapping her legs around his waist.  
  
He fucks her hard and she clings to him, letting him take her. Thrust after thrust, claiming her, his half-stifled grunts almost drowned out by her own. It’s a common language they can both speak with no baggage attached. Each push of his hips is pushing her back against the wall. Much harder and it will hurt. She thinks she might like that. It’s not long before he loses the rhythm and she knows he’s close. His eyes are closed and she wonders what, or who, he’s seeing. She knows he’s never married again. She always thought there was something between him and Carter. She wonders if they ever fucked. Maybe this is his ultimate revenge for putting up with years of technobabble ... fuck the scientist. Maybe he’s thinking of someone else. Maybe he’s actually thinking of her, as unlikely as that seems. Then she can’t think anymore because his face is pressed hard against her neck and he’s breathing out harshly, hot and damp, as he comes.  
  
She follows him swiftly, her contractions milking more from him, and it feels so good.  
  
They stand there, awkward now it’s over, then slowly, carefully, untangle trembling limbs. Sex is hard work when it’s rare in your life and unexpectedly athletic.  
  
“You’ve been waiting to do that for years,” she says, eventually, stepping into her underwear while he pulls off the condom and regards it with some distaste before going to the bathroom and flushing it away.  
  
“What?” he asks, walking back into the room, tucking, zipping and buckling.  
  
“Fuck the Russians.”  
  
“ _A_ Russian,” he corrects, not smiling.  
  
“You really are a relic,” she says.   
  
“Then I’ll finally hold some interest for Daniel,” he says, his tone cold and flat.  
  
“Bastard,” she breathes, because he is and she gets that and it doesn’t really matter. She’ll be back in Moscow tomorrow and this quick, hard fuck will be nothing more than useful masturbation fodder.   
  
“Yeah,” he says, putting on his leather jacket and heading for the door.   
  
“In any language,” she whispers as the door clicks shut.


End file.
